


Restless Souls

by Roses_And_Lillys



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dragonborn is ready to fight 24/7, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Miraak Lives (Elder Scrolls), Miraak is not super evil, Paarthurnax is sassy, Slow Burn, still not great tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roses_And_Lillys/pseuds/Roses_And_Lillys
Summary: Areya is restless, her soul is screaming at her and she knows she needs to fight but nothing seems right. When news of the 'True Dragonborn' reaches her she knows that this is the fight she needed to quash the rising dragon waiting to release chaos. However, maybe the fight is exactly what she was expecting.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak
Kudos: 7





	Restless Souls

**Author's Note:**

> I love Miraak so much and I feel everyone needs to share this love. That's all

_‘You are restless Dovahkiin’_

Paarthurnax’s voice rung clear and loud on the top of the mountain, almost as if he had shouted the words which, fortunately for Areya, he did not. If he did she wasn’t sure if she would have been thrown off the Throat of the World, and even less sure she would survive the drop. ‘What gave it away, my pacing or the fact that I have come to spend time with you without some selfish reason behind the visit?’ Areya assumed it was the former, however, the latter had not passed by Paarthurnax unnoticed she was sure, though a comment had not been made about her visit. ‘What troubles you?’ The truth of the matter is that Areya didn’t know what was causing this itching under her skin, this pounding in her head like her soul was trying to escape her body and that scared her. She was in control, even in a situation such as the ‘Emporer’s’ death which ended up being an imposter which led to half of the Dark Brotherhood being wiped out, she was still in control. Now, it felt as if she was ready to implode, or possibly explode any second. ‘I need to fight, something. I’m not sure, vampires, draugr, even fucking deer. I just need to fight something.’ There was a shout in her throat, not intentional but the words came out much louder than intended and she felt like a dragon, like Paarthurnax, and for a moment the pounding stopped, only to be interrupted by the sound of rocks falling from the mountain.

The Greybeards were probably not best pleased to hear that. ‘The Greybeards’ she thought with a dampened spirit, she knew she was planning to stay with them for the night due to her late arrival and with the time she knew she would be up here, there was no chance she would be prepared to walk down the mountain at night, now she wished she was walking down it. Anything would be better than staying in the ridiculously quiet High Hrothgar. ‘You are restless’ ‘You mentioned’ At this, she slumped to the ground, she had fought a god and yet she knew she wasn’t satisfied. She needed to fight. ‘A restless _Dovah_ is never good, a restless _Dovah_ with a human body as a vessel can release _Chadro_.’

That’s what the pounding in her head was, not her soul, but the dragon within her soul trying to escape and she knew she would never win this battle. There was a fire in her that never seemed to be quenched, no matter how many factions she leads, battles she won, monsters and gods alike she slew, she would be fighting herself much longer than she would be doing any of those. Growing old and frail isn’t an option, she would never be able to stay still, she would end up dying from restlessness before sitting still for one minute. ‘I don’t know what to do? I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting before I can no longer control the dragon inside me.’

Her voice was quieter now, almost fearful, vulnerable. There were few people in all of Tamriel she felt comfortable enough with to air her concerns and fears and Paarthurnax was one of them. Maybe a giant dragon that could kill her with one swift clamping of his jaw wasn’t the safest option to feel free to be vulnerable around but maybe the dragon in her soul knows that he understands her brain, well her dragon’s brain, better than she herself did. ‘ _Ruz Krif Dovahkiin_ , but understand who you are fighting and whether they deserve the punishment I know you can give.’ His voice still rang loud around her, yet a sense of calm enveloped her, not enough to quash the pounding in her head, but enough to know that she wasn’t completely losing her mind and maybe she might be able to get restful sleep tonight.

The walk down to High Hrothgar was much less pleasant than the walk-up. The night air made the wind turn into daggers, stabbing at the exposed skin of her fingers and face. Maybe she would freeze to death before the dragon inside her will be released, although she knew that after spending a night in the ‘Chill’ had prepared her to face the worst cold imaginable so the walk down would hardly kill her, yet her numb fingers seemed to disagree. The one benefit of visiting Paarthurnax so late meant that although her walk down was painfully cold, the lights in the sky were the brightest she had seen them. She felt as if she was part of the sky and if she focused hard enough she really was, Skyrim didn’t need her at that point and she didn’t need to fight but instead just be. Both fortunately for her frozen fingers and unfortunately for her restless spirit, she arrived in the courtyard of High Hrothgar.

In the night Areya wasn’t sure if High Hrothgar looked more like a prison than a sanctuary but maybe it looked like that to her in the daytime too. The idea of staying there longer than a night made the pounding in her head grow considerably and her skin prickle uncomfortably with heat, even in the freezing snow of the courtyard. Even though her body longed for the heat of the fireplace she could curl in front of and the taste of the Honningbrew Mead which she kept in her ‘room’ at the sanctuary, her legs remained stuck to the ground and her body wouldn’t go in. She was stupid to think that her conversation with Paarthurnax would help calm her enough to face the grey halls and dreadful silence that encompassed the place, but standing in the courtyard she decided that sleeping on the throat of the world with Paarthurnax might be a better option for her. However, after deciding she was acting like a child who didn’t want to go into a shop, she opened the door and entered into the bleak and musty hall.

The chill doesn’t immediately leave her bones as it would at The Frozen Hearth but getting out of the bitter wind and into a somewhat warmer environment was a better option than freezing to death in the night, and Areya wasn’t going to turn down the Greybeards’ generous offer of a bed and food. There was something about the Greybeards Areya both loved and hated, yes they were quiet and pretty much impossible to strike a conversation up with but they didn’t fear her. She wanted to be feared in a way, you can’t be a good warrior if everyone you’re fighting doesn’t fear you to some extent, especially when they see you with a battleaxe chopping off their friend’s heads, but people she knows and helps, they aren’t the type of people you want to fear you. The Greybeards see her as equal and in a way she isn’t, she is much less than. The Greybeards have honed their skills after years of learning and she’s just someone who was gifted this incredible thing and still can’t particularly use her skills well or safely. Sure she’s handy with a weapon, but shout someone off a cliff is not something she’s ever been good at.

The exhaustion hit her all at once, one minute she was standing in the entrance and the next minute it felt like her legs were ready to give way under her which isn’t ideal as she isn’t sure if the Greybeards would be able, or willing, to lift her to her bed. So, begrudgingly, she gave up on the idea of an ale and made her ‘room’. Her bed was, in fact, a bedroll but she had sept on worse and the Greybeards didn’t even have to give her this so she wasn’t going to complain, well not out loud when she knows for a fact if they wanted they could easily kill her with their voices alone. Instead, she peeled off her layers of armour and burrowed into the fur of the bedroll.

Sleep was never something that could come easily to Areya, even as a child she felt restless and spent the night tossing and turning but ever since she found out she was a Dragonborn it just became worse. The pounding in her head and tingling of her skin only got worse as nights went by without her exerting her energy in some way and as Paarthurnax said, her restlessness leads to chaos and chaos and dragons never mix well. She came up with a plan months ago when she couldn’t lie still and wanted to get up and fight but knew that wasn’t the option, instead, she would count. It always changed depending on where she was, in her home it would be the number of daggers she had on her walls, not that she favoured the dagger or even used it but it was an easy collectable, at taverns, it would always be the number of conversations she could overhear, and tonight it was the buckles on her armour. The armour was an unusual thing, not in the sense that it was particularly rare or extravagant, she was given it when she became the leader of the Thieves Guild. It was strange in the fact that she wasn’t a sneaky killer. Her weapon of choice was a large battleaxe she found when exploring one of the many tombs she finds herself wandering when restless and has never been able to part with the heavy two-handed weapon since. The weight fits the ache in her soul and lets her exert her energy on something, thinking about lifting and swinging it rather than her soul trying to break free and destroy. She was not a sneaky killer, she could be but she didn’t have the patience or energy to waste on sneaking around when she could easily, well not so easy with the weight of her weapon, chop someones head off. Becoming the leader of anything, never mind the broken Thieves guild, was not part of her plan at all but the money seemed easy and the people seemed alright and then the next thing she knew she was saving it from their own leader and took up the helm herself, although Brynjolf does most of the work she has when shes out ignoring her duties. The armour felt right, she could run and didn’t have the extra weight weighing her down, which was a blessing considering the heavy battleaxe she decided to use, so as soon as she put on her armour she knew she could never part with it, and to this day she was right. So here she was, lying on the floor counting the buckles in her armour. One on the wrist, one of the waist, so on and so on until her eyes became heavy and the counting stopped.

As she suspected, sleep didn’t come easy for her that night. It wasn’t as if she was plagued with nightmares, which is surprising considering she faced off against a dragon god but nightmares have never caused her issues. Instead, it was as if she could never truly get to sleep. Maybe it was all the danger she has faced throughout the years making her never truly fall asleep or maybe it was the constant agitation she felt deep within her soul but a restful nights sleep is something she hasn’t felt in a long time. At least when she was a child, the tossing and turning eventually led to a restful nights sleep but that seemed to be impossible for her recently.

Morning eventually came for Areya, which meant her journey down the mountain was looming over her head and for the first time since she first made the journey she was actually excited for the fresh air and exertion that would hopefully dampen the restlessness she felt. Mornings at High Hrothgar were always a time she made sure to appreciate, the way the dawn light appeared through the window and scattered on the floor, the same colour as a dragons soul which led to a moment of peace before the journey.

Areya was raised well and she knew that thanking her hosts was a decent thing to do but the uncomfortable silence she receives from of the Greybeards made her want to skip the niceties and run straight out the door. However, she knew the Greybeards did not have to host her for the night so as she made her way out of the door she made sure to give a quick thank you and goodbye before making her journey down.

The journey down the mountain was tiring and cold and dismal and yet, there was something so reliving about the walk. The walk was hardly even a walk, Areya was practically running down the mountain, she needed to not think for a second. To feel something other than the pounding and this gave her that release. The cold air bit at her skin and she relished in the feeling, the pain made her feel real and alive and as if she was human and not stuck in the body of a human when really she should be flying in the skies with Paarthurnax and Odahviing. Unfortunately, the town of Ivarstead appeared much too soon for Areya’s liking, meaning that the carriage ride to Whiterun was fast approaching and being stuck in a cart for hours on end is not particularly her take on fun but she had business with Arcadia and she knew she was already going to be late, so the walk to Whiterun would have to wait for another day.

Cart rides are not Areya’s favourite pass time but this time was much worse, she itching for a fight so sitting there for hours and just watching the landscape pass by so slowly made her skin crawl. Halfway through she was about to take her axe and smash it into the drivers head and steal his horse, however, petty killing is not part of her agenda and the thought made her sick. She knew she wasn’t innocent, she’s stolen from so many people but this is never something she would do so the thought, just because she was restless, scared her. She decided to go through her potions considering that she was visiting Arcadia so something, anything, to distract her from these intrusive thoughts to help her through the journey. Finally, she arrived at Whiterun without ending up killing the driver and gave him a polite nod before entering the city.

Arriving in Whiterun was a blessing, she truly did feel at home in this city and it was a place she felt she could pretend to be a true citizen of Skyrim and not some Imperial imposter. However, as soon as she entered the city she knew something wasn’t right. Three, men she assumed, in tentacle masked stood before her and halted her step. ‘You there! You’re the one they call Dragonborn?’ The man at the front had a deep voice that seemed too loud for the already loud city and she could feel the fight rising in her veins. ‘Well the Greybeards say so, so I’m inclined to agree with them’ She knew it was a risk to provoke them but the fight was already in her voice and she knew that there was no backing out now. She really hoped that these were against her and not trying to recruit her for something because she’s coming off as incredibly hostile but something in the way they almost accused her of being Dragonborn made her think differently. ‘Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver. The True Dragonborn comes… You are but his shadow.’ She knew not to trust these strange men and the heat on her skin came back, she knew she was looking for a fight and Akatosh must be listening to her because three people stood before her who looked as ready to fight as she was. ‘When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him.’ Who was this Miraak, Areya hadn’t known another Dragonborn and although she wasn’t happy he was sending his minions to attack her, there was a part of her the set fire with excitement. Maybe this is what her soul was creaming about, there was someone else like her and maybe that is the fight she needs.

Before she could even start to ask her questions about this ‘True Dragonborn’ the first attacks had already started. Now, this was the fight her soul was screaming for and she wasn’t planning on holding back, at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Dovahkiin= Dragonborn  
> Dovah= Dragon  
> Chadro=Chaos  
> Ruz Krif= Then fight


End file.
